


of what was everything

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Childhood Trauma, Coulson is afraid of Fate, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daisy Johnson loves Phil Coulson, Daisy and Phil are soulmates, F/M, Fear of Abandonment, Friendship/Love, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Hugs, Inhumans (Marvel), Male-Female Friendship, Phil Coulson loves Daisy Johnson, Psychological Trauma, Sad, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, nice people being hard on themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulson RomFest 2k16 REDUX - DAY 2 · 19 July<br/>the rotten core</p><p>Daisy and Coulson both blame themselves for events beyond their control, and find each other there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of what was everything

“That it’s what?  Fate?!”

“I don’t know,” she replies, carefully annunciating each word, watching his reaction as his anger washes over her, as he starts to pace the floor of the hotel room.

She knows it’s not for her, but she doesn’t really understand who it is for at this point.

“Did Fate lead you to the Kree temple, or was it _me_?” he asks, as he turns back around on her.

“How can you blame yourself for that?” she says, irritation creeping into the edges of her voice. “It was my father-”

“What about Ward, then?  Hive? I had something _inside_ of me,” he interrupts. “And, because of my own curiosity, then my own, selfishness, I-“

He stops and puts his hands against the small table in his hotel room, bows his head.  And she watches as the wood under his left hand starts to creak under the pressure.

“How long have you been taking them, Phil?”  She asks, looking at the bottle of medication on the table.

His hands relax, and he peers up at her, over his shoulder.  His face showing that he’s holding back whatever is itching at him below the surface.

“Long enough,” he sighs, resignation ringing out in his voice.

Then he straightens, and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, trying to regain his composure, but not looking her in the eye.

“You told me I couldn’t blame myself for Hive, but you’re doing the same thing.”

“That’s different,” he shrugs, even a little petulant. “You had no control over anything that you did.  It was only a chemical response to-”

She’s heard this already. Drilled into her by Simmons.  And it still doesn’t wash.  It doesn’t give her the answer she’s after.

“He made me want things,” she cuts in. “He _twisted_ the way I want things.  It came from inside of me, I have to live with that.  _Every_ day.”

It takes everything in her not to look down at his leg, just as a reminder of her mistakes. Her punishment for wanting.

She’s so tired, after these months of being chased.  She came here for Robin.  To keep her promise to Charles.

And then he was there with Mack, coming for her.

She’s _so_ tired.

Walking to the edge of the bed in the room, she sits down, and painstakingly pulls the hat and wig off her head. When she rests her hands on her lap, she stares at them.

Weapons. That’s what everyone says. No matter how much she tries to protect them.

There is a pause hovering, a moment of stillness. Then she sees him shuffle, out of the corner of her eye, and put his hands on his hips.

He finally comes to sit down beside her on the bed.

“You’re not a weapon, Daisy,” he tells her quietly.

“You’re not a map, Phil,” she answers, blunt-edged, and turns her hands over on her legs.

He doesn’t say anything, and so, she just scratches the itch where the wig brushed against her nose.

She knows that he won’t begin any of this, and maybe it’s a very bad idea, given their history of talking around this. 

“You shouldn’t have trusted me so much. To be SHIELD.  Instead of Inhuman.”

Shock registers in his eyes first, then makes its way over the rest of his face, as his mouth opens, then closes.

“I trusted you to do the right thing,” he answers, indignant. “That’s all.”

“Look at me, Coulson.”

He tries to, then whatever he sees in her, makes him look away.

“I’m Inhuman. I’m different.”

“No. You’re not,” he says, adamant, pressing his lips together, shaking his head. “You are, but you’re-“

“Yes, _I am_.” She puts her fingers against his face to make him look at her again. “And you can’t fix it,” she goes on, despite the fact that he looks paralyzed, or for the tears welling in her eyes.

“You didn’t _make_ me this.  And stop trying to pretend I didn’t change.”

She lets go, and stands up.  Because, it’s the message she wanted to deliver. It’s why she came here.

It’s too hard to keep doing this, knowing that he can’t let go.  It makes it impossible for her-

Shutting her eyes for a moment to hold herself together, she starts walking to the door.

“I don’t care that you changed,” he tells her, his voice rising, as he stands “I told you I didn’t care, no matter what!“

She knew he would say this, though, and she keeps making her way towards the door.

“I need you.”

It freezes her in her tracks, because, Hive made her feel, _convinced her_ , she had been lying to herself about this all along.

“For what?” she calls back, lifting her chin. “To be SHIELD?  To be the muscle?”

 “No. I thought I knew,” he says, moving closer to her. “But now-”

Hive’s voice, wearing Ward’s face.  Telling her she always likes the bad ones.

It wasn’t true. She has loved a good man, all along. Impossibly. And now she’s alone again.

It frightens her, even more than herself, because there is nothing in the way.

She turns back towards him and finds him already there. Backing away to give her more space.

“You need to let me go,” she says, willing the emotion out of her voice.

“I don’t know how,” he answers, his eyes starting to glisten. “You’re in here,” he goes on, pointing at his chest. “All the time.”

It’s not her fault. It wasn’t her fault that Lincoln felt that way about her, and what he did when he couldn’t have _more_ was too much.

“Daisy-”

“Quake.”

He makes a little stubborn face at that in protest.  Another name, her tone.

“Agent Coulson, nice to meet you,” he kicks back, sounding irritated, cocky.

Funny, how they’ve arrived back at where they began.  She thinks about his suits and his hopefulness.  How they were going to change the world together. And then she can feel herself shaking, putting her hand to her mouth, trying to stop feeling so much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, moving close again, like he wants to hold her, but can’t. “I’ll stop. Okay? What do you need me to do?”

And she tugs on his arm, thinking about how his voice sounds so small and afraid. The way she used to, when she would make promises, so she wouldn’t be sent back to St. Agnes.

It takes him a moment to realize what she wants, but then he wraps his arms around her, lets her pull him tight against her.

 

#

She wakes up and looks at the glow of city lights peeking out through the curtains, then picks up her burner phone and checks the time.

Coulson is a heavy sleeper, she guesses.  Or, it could be the meds.

It’s dim in the room, but she can make out his features, as she lifts his arm from where it’s resting over her flannel shirt, and reaches across for her leather jacket on the other bed.

Frowning in his sleep, or is he just dreaming? She leans down and brushes the pad of her thumb over the crease between his eyebrows, his face relaxes and a little sigh puffs out.

She needed this.  She told herself she didn’t, that she could live without it.  When did she start to believe that lie? 

A long time ago.

Before she met him.

He _is_ a map.  And she loves him.

Her eyes follow down the length of him, letting herself look at him the way she’s only done in glimpses before.  Memorizing.  His scruffy face, and his polo shirt pulled loose from his jeans, when she notices that his shoes are still on.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she starts to loosen the laces and then slowly pull them off his feet.

“What are you doing?”

The other shoe falls to the floor and she turns back at him with an embarrassed smile, as he stays very still, watching.

“Making you more comfortable?”

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Late,” she tells him, as he sits up with a groan and rests his arms on his knees.

“You need to go,” he says, like it’s inevitable. Because it is.

“I never thanked you.” She looks up, while fiddling with the edge of her mesh sleeve. “For wanting to take care of me.”

He does that thing where he tilts his head, like he’s listening very carefully.

“We were taking care of each other, I hope,” he replies, when she doesn’t say anything more.

He reaches for her hand, and then hesitates, but then as he brushes his fingers over the top of hers, she covers his hand with her other, and holds it, as she stands.

“Daisy, I-“

She lets go, the rest of the words trapped in his throat, she supposes, and then drops her jacket back on the other bed.

“Can I stay?” She already knows the answer, as she sits down beside him and starts taking off her boots. “Then, in the morning, I’ll-“

“Yes.” He gets it out before she can even finish. “Whatever you need.”

Sliding back on top of the covers, she settles in against the pillow, and sees him watching her, surprise still drawn on his face.

“You.”

She lets him decide what he wants to do with that, and then smiles, privately, when he shifts closer to her. 

He offers himself, then slides his arm under her, until she’s resting against his side, her head on his shoulder.

“This is nice,” she says, with a happy sigh.

His breath whispers against her hair, as she feels his heartbeat start to slow down, its vibrations beginning to match hers.

“Yes. It is.”


End file.
